


Hurricane | Journal of Akalera, Silent Dragonborn

by HeartOfNature



Series: Journals of the Last Dragonborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Diary/Journal, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Dragonborn DLC, F/F, Gen, House Telvanni, I NEED COMMENTS, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Skyrim, LEAVE ME COMMENTS YE HOEBAGS, Lesbian Character, Muteness, Neglect, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Lesbian Character, Sign Language, Solstheim, i will actually cry if i don't get comments, please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 22,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfNature/pseuds/HeartOfNature
Summary: A selectively mute Altmer finds herself in hot water while pursuing her hunger for knowledge.





	1. Skyrim: Entry One

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't looked at the tags, this work contains a portrayal of an autistic, selectively mute character who suffered three years of neglect. i have heavily researched the effects of trauma on a young mind, and i myself am autistic and have had episodes of muteness. this is simply one portrayal of such events and people, and is not necessarily accurate for all who fit the bill.

I have finally made my way into the province known as Skyrim, after visiting Valenwood, Black Marsh, Elsweyre and Cyrodiil. Having filled my other journals, I once again will start anew, and record my experiences and findings here. 

This land is quite different from the others that I have visited, and I must confess that I struggle to write this as my hand is shaking still from the events of this day. It would seem I chose a poor time to cross the border, and I scarce believe that what I write is true. I fear leaving this house, for I may encounter yet more horrible creatures like the great black dragon I saw, but I have promised the kind young man who allowed me to escape with him that I would take a message for his uncle. 

I still cannot speak, as has been the case for the past nine years. Today, this very nearly ended my life. I was unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire of the Civil War taking place, and was captured alongside the rebels fighting against the Empire. They took us to be executed in a small village they called Helgen. The Thalmor were there. I was lucky that they did not recognize me, but I suppose they wouldn’t have anyway. I believe that my parents told their comrades that I had died of a severe infection of the throat. 

I had the chance to save my life when the kind young man who later helped me escape called the prisoners’ names. Yet my mouth did not work, and as my hands were bound I was unable to give a reply when asked who I was. Therefore, despite his protests, his captain sentenced me to death.

I have never been more afraid than when I was laying on the block, and I admit that I wept in terror as the man raised his axe, and even now I tremble and my eyes become teary to think of what happened next. A beast from tales of many eons ago swooped down from above, with ebony wings like death itself and a hunger in its eyes for blood. He roared and fiery rocks began to fall from the sky, as the clouds circled over my head and wind shook the very buildings. It was as if the end times had come. The headsman was struck by a boulder, and fell dead on the ground, and I too was stunned before being able to rise and flee. I cannot describe the horrors I saw as the Imperial man, who calls himself Hadvar, barely older than I, took me to safety. I saw a father be crushed in half before his son, and my stomach turns to think of the way his body was bent as his spine was seperated. I do not know what happened to his son, but I desperately hope he lived. Such a small child, I pity him…

I think that Hadvar and I were the only ones to make it out alive, and even then barely so. I remember both of us being thrown across the landscape with a mighty roar, and several times the dragon was merely inches away. I could have reached out and touched it. 

I do wonder if the Thalmor there perished. I do not enjoy hate or a wish for others to die, but I lived amongst their vile ranks for a decade and three of my life, and with what I suffered, I would gladly watch as they all burnt under dragon’s breath.

It matters not at the moment whether they lived or died, though. Hadvar and I are safe, in his uncle and aunt’s home in a small, peaceful, beautiful village called Riverwood. He has a cousin, a very sweet little girl with a bright smile named Dorthe. She does not understand my sign language, but she can read, and I told her about my experience with the dragon by writing it down for her. I think it helped me process today’s events, and she was very excited to learn about it. I adore her, and I hope that she is never harmed by the dragons that have risen or any other foe that exists in this land. 

Hadvar’s aunt is nice enough as well, although she seems to think I am after her husband. She does not read sign language either, and I have not bothered to tell her on paper that I find no man attractive. 

They are letting me stay in their home for now. There is no bed for myself or their nephew, but they have made bedrolls for us, and I am grateful. A local woman runs a mill here. I chopped firewood for her today. It was difficult with my lacking physical capabilities, but I made a good deal of coin from it. I also was allowed to practice my alchemy in the nearby tavern, though the barkeep warned me that magic blows people up.

Hadvar says he believes that the dragon may have something to do with the rebellion, whom he calls the Stormcloaks. They are the ones who worship man instead of god, and whose right to do so was taken by the Great War, when Aldmeri forces bore down on humanity. He says that Ulfric killed Skyrim’s High King. I find the politics of Skyrim fascinating- the small province is divided into smaller regions called Holds, and within each Hold there is a capital and smaller villes. Holds are govern’d by kings called Jarls, and Jarls govern’d by rulers called High Kings and High Queens. I am unclear on how one becomes High King; Hadvar says that they are elected by Jarls, but also that Ulfric’s murder of the latest King has been said to make him High King. It is confusing, and I do not believe it is as peaceful as some of the other nations I have visited. 

The Skyrim people call themselves Nords, and they seem to look down upon us Altmer. I suppose that is fair, given our ties to the Aldmeri Dominion. I must be careful that none learn of my heritage, though I denounced it when I was but a child. Hadvar has also warned me that magic is not much liked here, and that some will fear me for my use of it. I intended to seek more knowledge of such arts here, but that may be difficult. And if dragons have risen once again…

I must confess that I am very fearful of what the future holds for me here. I have always faced more challenges than the average Altmer, and Skyrim seems to be quite the harsh land. 

Still, the message I agreed to take only needs to be delivered a short ways away, and if I am swift I should make it to the city safely. It is walled, my destination, and I think that I will be safe there. Dragonsreach is where the message must go. It was once used to hold a dragon itself, so I believe that it is probably the best place for me to be during this nonsense. I will begin the journey tomorrow.


	2. Skyrim: Entry Two

I grow ill of killing. I have slain many in the past few days, and it makes my blood run cold to think of their bodies. It is not of malice, but necessity, and yet I cannot help but shudder. I did try to spare some, when they got down on their knees and begged for mercy. I lowered my hands, leaving them to recover. But the moment they could get up again they turned on me and I was forced to leave them dead. 

I delivered Alvor’s message. It took little time to reach Whiterun, an eccentric place that calls into question the severity of the Great War’s impact on Nord life. It is an Imperial city, I believe, and yet there is a man screaming of Talos as if the world may end at any moment, and none have stopped him. It is fascinating, the extent to which he is capable of screaming- I would think it would hurt his throat, but he seems no less for his hours of preaching. He yells with unholy extremity, and though I wish to learn of this man/god, I find his priest’s loudness overwhelming, and when I pass him I must cover my ears for his voice shakes my body. 

It is a beautiful and well-kept town, just like Riverwood. There are many alchemical ingredients growing about the town, from mountain flowers to dragon’s tongue. I gathered as much as I could. There is also a large, sad tree in the very centre where the man who shrieks of Talos stands. Beneath that tree is a little girl in green, an orphan, who begs for coin, and houses where a young couple argued. I offered to fetch a sword for the husband, a weapon which was the source of their argument. The couple are foreign too, like me, and the man commented on that, very gently. It was pleasant to see another person far from home.

A group of warriors resides within the walls of Whiterun. They call themselves the Companions, and from what I can tell they are all Nords. I helped them kill a Giant, as it appeared to be attacking them and I could not let more innocent people die. But then as it fell on its knees and died, one amongst them called the fight a “good hunt”. I do believe they sought out this being solely to murder it, and I am disgusted that I lent my magic. 

One, a woman with fiery red hair, asked me to join them, but I do not know if she was sincere. They all made to stay many feet away from me, be it for my Sparks or for my race. I signed to her that I was not interested in helping them continue to provoke blameless beings, and though she did not seem to understand my signs she understood my expression. We are not on good terms, I do not believe.The other woman with them has been rather cold, but the man amongst them simply said I look strong. 

The guards outside Whiterun nearly stopped me from entering. It is frustrating how little the residents of Skyrim understand my signals. Fortunately, Alvor, ever kind and understanding, wrote the message for me so that I could show others like these guards. Upon reading the paper, they allowed me in. 

Jarl Balgruuf is the name of the man who presides over Whiterun. He is supposedly impatient, although I cannot see it in him. His bodyguard is another mer, a Dunmer, and I daresay she nearly frightened me to tears when she drew her sword and approached me. She backed me against the door before speaking, but when I showed her the note all her hostility faded and she allowed me to see Balgruuf.

Balgruuf has sent the soldiers Alvor asked for. I hope his aid will be enough to protect Riverwood should another dragon attack take place. I do not wish to imagine what might happen to this small town, or its inhabitants. 

He had another task for me. Or rather, for his court wizard. The man’s name is Farengar. He is a man of small stature, with a particular way of speaking and a very blunt personality, and I wonder if he is different like me.

He requested that I fetch a stone tablet for him, from what I now know was a tomb full of the living dead. It is a map of some sort, of ancient dragon burial grounds from the barely recorded history of the world. I have it with me now.

It was kept in a place called Bleak Falls Barrow, a Nordic building in which those who died so many years ago have yet to find rest. The horrors within the damp walls are hardly descriptable. It was silent, except for the shuffling of decaying feet and the old words spoken in a language as lost as those who used it.

To get to the stone, I needed a golden claw. I found the thing on the corpse of a Dunmer bandit, who had stolen it from a trader in Riverwood. The claw held the key to a puzzle door in a hall with engraved pictures that I only assume were the beginnings of Nord history.

When I completed the puzzle key, the door shook and sunk into the earth. Beyond it was an underground grove with sparkling water, inhabited by bats and marked by a glowing wall with words I have never seen written on it. 

As I approached the wall, everything around me became dark and blurred except for three letters in this bizarre alphabet. They shone in blue as everything else was black and somehow, through some manner unknown, I understood what it said. Then the world became light again, and a hulking, torn undead beast rushed at me with an axe in one hand and the stone I needed in the other. I slew him, and gathered the stone. It does indeed show what appears to be a map, and on the back there are the same symbols as on the wall. I presume it to be related to the language of the dragons, but I will have to ask Farengar for confirmation. 

The claw has been returned to its owner, who gave me a great deal of gold for returning it to him. I also purchased some spellbooks from his shop. One is a spell called Calm, and I hope that it will be of use in the future. Perhaps I will not have to kill if I can use this spell on those who attack me.

It is late now, and raining, so I have chosen to stay overnight at Alvor’s house. Tomorrow I will give this stone to Farengar.


	3. Skyrim: Entry Three

I have learned a great deal about Nord culture on this night! Their legends have it that there is a mortal with the ability to steal a dragon’s soul and absorb its power, and use a special kind of vocal magic called a Shout, or a Thu’um! Apparently, all dragon attacks are done through this magic, and humans and mer and beastfolk can learn it, but only through extensive training. Unless, that is, they are the moral with the soul of a dragon, called Dragonborn or Dovahkiin. Dovahkiin are extremely rare, and haven’t been seen since Tiber Septim, the man Nords call Talos- I suppose that explains why they worship him, come to think of it. He was, after all, the only Dragonborn to be summoned to High Hrothgar, a sacred and peaceful monastery. Well, until today. 

A dragon attacked a watchtower just after I gave Farengar the Dragonstone. Jarl Balgruuf and his Dunmer housecarl- Irileth, I think- insisted that I aid them in battling it. I think that was an ill-informed decision. I am clumsy, which does not mix well with my height, and even running to the site of the attack I stumbled many times. We were fortunate; some of the men had survived, though sadly many perished. I conjured a Flame Atronach. With her help, we were able to bring down the flying beast. I barely did any work aside from directing her, which I am ashamed of, and I received some severe burns that Farengar saw to when I returned. Nonetheless, Irileth considered me a valuable ally, and Jarl Balgruuf named me Thane. I do not believe such a title is worth anything but honour, but he says it is very important and the highest gift he can give, so I accepted it. They are quite kind to me, considering that I simply told my Atronach where to throw her flames.

The battle was horrific, and I think that if not for adrenaline coursing through my veins I would have died. That beast was as big as the tower itself, swooping and snapping and breathing huge bursts of fire at us. Its tail thrashed as we grew near. Its jaws snapped at any who dared approach it. Scraps of armour fell from its teeth, and blood glistened on its lips. But we whittled it down to its last breath, and thank the Aedra that no more men lost their lives. 

Something happened after the dragon fell, though. I do not know what, but the Nords say I absorbed its soul, and that I am Dragonborn. I think that is absurd. How can I Shout when I cannot even speak? 

But the Greybeards agree, Jarl Balgruuf says. When I was walking back to Whiterun, the ground trembled, and many voices shouted into the sky, calling “DOV-AH-KIIN!” and the tallest mountain in the landscape bucked and quaked. Jarl Balgruuf and his brother say they called for me. Balgruuf wants me to go and climb the 7,000 Steps leading to the top of the tallest mountain, the Throat of the World, at once. He does not know what these Greybeards want from me, but he says that if I were to go they may teach me wonderful things, and that there is no higher honour than being summoned by them. 

I will make preparations and leave soon. At the very least, this will help me understand the Nords a bit better. I do first have two favours I promised to do, but afterwards I will go and seek out the Greybeards. 

There is one thing that bothers me, however. One of the men with Irileth and I told her that she could not fathom their legends for she is no Nord. Irileth is much older than myself, and has been in all provinces, even those I have not visited. If she cannot understand, then how can I hope to? I am but an Altmer scholar, raised by Thalmor. I cannot compare to Irileth’s many years of experience, and if she is unable to comprehend the Nord belief, I see no way that I can. That breaks my heart; I want to know about these people that my family so loathes, and understand what my parents never wanted to.

But perhaps they are wrong. We will see.


	4. Skyrim: Entry Four

Ivarstead is the little village underneath High Hrothgar, just before the 7,000 Steps I must climb. It is small and quaint with perhaps more guards than citizens. One of the men here delivers food to the Greybeards, an honour that I offered to accept from him for he is getting older and cannot make the climb as frequently. 

I have asked around about High Hrothgar and gotten little in the way of conclusive responses. A happy-go-lucky Bosmer simply said that there are odd clouds over it, and the man whose supplies I am taking told me that the Greybeards can kill with a single word.

It is said that the path is cold and slippery. I am thankful that the robes I wear are warm, and even more thankful that they are comfortable. I am rocking with anxiety, and find that all that is helping is casting Alteration spells repeatedly. My satchel was beginning to bother me, so I removed it, but I still feel like it is rubbing against my hip… I hate it. Oh, but I mustn’t forget it when I leave tomorrow morning. 

Perhaps I should record some of the things that I witnessed on my way here and take my mind off of my fear. I always have an underlying feeling of dread, but with every day in Skyrim I find that it builds. I have learned though, and seen some fascinating affairs and organisms.

-a group calling themselves Vigils of Stendarr have appeared- I have never seen them before, but have heard of them. Their order was formed after the Oblivion Crisis hundreds of years ago. They claim to hunt Daedra-related monsters, like werewolves and vampires. The pair I encountered had slain a young Dunmer woman with white hair, who lay face-down in the mud with her eyes closed. They allowed me to take a useful ring from her body, saying they had no need for it. I wonder how they feel about Orismer. Orismer came from a Daedra, didn’t they? I wonder about their ideals anyway. I do not believe that all vampires and werewolves are a danger or deserve death. It must be a hard way to live if you did not wish to be turned. 

-wolves are a serious problem here. The scrawny pests are everywhere, it is honestly rather impressive. 

-a bandit man took advantage of my kindness. It is sad that he had to attack a helpful passerby for his money. Disgusting. 

My hand is shaking and cramping. I must be pressing too hard on the page...I always did have problems writing for extended periods of time, but it is necessary to record my findings and experiences. Still, the tremors have gotten bad, and I feel like I may vomit. I keep casting the spells, but it isn’t helping anymore. The innkeeper is staring at me strangely. I hope the sun rises soon.

Jarl Balgruuf says that High Hrothgar is detached from the pains and struggles of this world...perhaps I can find some peace there.


	5. Skyrim: Entry Five

I have made it to High Hrothgar. The path was not without its trials. I will now mark the name of a woman who died saving me from a horrid white beast:Karita. She was a weathered Nord with a tired face. I left her body in front of the tablet she was meditating on, and sat beside her mourning for many hours. I cannot shake the feeling of guilt that floods me when I think about her. She was a pilgrim who made this trip every few years, and I am sure she did not expect to be killed protecting a weak mage like myself...I only hope that she goes to Sovngarde...that is the Nord heaven, right?

I mustn’t dwell on her. This journey has given me much to reflect upon...

Small pillars etched with short poems line the steps. They give the history of men and dragons. From the way the last few were written, it almost appears that the dragons never really died- they simply left this plane of existence. 

It appears that the current leader of the Greybeards is not a man. Perhaps he is a god, or a demigod. I cannot spell his name, but the stones outside say that he was sent to Nirn during the Mythic Era by Kynareth, the Aedra who gave humanity the Voice to begin with. He is old, very old, if it is the same person. 

I wonder if humans were capable of speaking before Kyne gave them the Voice. Did they have a voice but not a Voice, or were they silent, like me?

Master Arngeir speaks for the Greybeards. He is a small, old Nord man with pale, almost transparent eyes and heavy, layered, smoky robes that I can only imagine are heavenly to wear. He has been very kind to me, and can read my signs. I suppose he would be able to, being surrounded by men who cannot speak. When he saw me enter, he approached me with all the others emerging from their meditations to join him. 

He told me to Shout for him. I signed that I could not, yet he insisted that I try. I mouthed the word I knew- the word “Fus”, Force, and to my shock a wave of magic left my lips, knocking the Greybeards about. I do not think I said the word itself, but the power was definitely there. 

Master Arngeir was quite pleased. He had one of the other Greybeards teach me the second word, “Ro”, “Balance”, and I learned it quickly. They also taught me a brand-new Shout, Whirlwind Sprint. I learned that one with ease as well. 

For my final test, they wish for me to fetch an old artifact hailing from the mythic days of the first Greybeard, Jurgen Windcaller. However, Master says that I must not stress myself. He puts great importance on my comfort, and asks that I explore myself and Skyrim to learn my Voice and my destiny. I feel quite at ease around him.

There is no way that I am not connected to the dragons reappearing, he says. I find that quite straining. But he says not to fret over it, and to take my time learning. I am, after all, an Altmer. I have all the time in the world.

I spent a few hours dancing in their courtyard once all was said and done. I have not had the room or privacy to dance in a long time. It was lovely to have some spare moments where no-one else was around and I could do the one physical activity I excel at. It seems that when I dance, all my clumsiness fades and I become one with the sky around me. 

The air on High Hrothgar is ice cold and clear as a mountain stream. When I danced it filled my lungs and cleared my head. The snow fluttering down melted on my face and hands. I danced until my cheeks were flushed and my frosty breath was short and quick. Then I danced some more. 

I now sit inside the temple to write this. It is dimly, softly lit with oranges and yellows on deep grays and blacks. There is no sound except my quill scratching the journal. I can hear my heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears.

This is all very overwhelming. I feel responsible for those who died in Helgen...if I do indeed have something to do with the dragons’ return, they would have lived if I had not been there. Perhaps if I had not come to Skyrim the dragons would have merely stayed in whatever world they vanished to millenia ago. 

I never asked for this. I simply wanted to learn about the Nords...but I have no choice but to explore Skyrim with this new burden, and try to learn what may have caused this to happen. I have no time for self-pity when such a great responsibility is on my shoulders. 

That poor woman who died protecting me...if I am Dragonborn, I should be protecting others. The Voice is a powerful gift that Master says should not be taken lightly. I must use it well. I must get stronger.

Farengar mentioned a school of magic far away from here, in a region called Winterhold. I must make my way there at once, and learn to use my magic effectively beyond calming myself and creating pretty lights.


	6. Skyrim: Entry Six

There is a Thalmor here. There is a Thalmor here. There is a Thalmor Agent at the College of Winterhold. I do not think he recognized me when he saw me during my first lesson...but he is here and I do not care for it. I tremble to think of him, and when I saw him I crumpled in fear, sweating and breathing hard. He did not see me, for he was arguing with the Master Wizard, Madame Mirabelle, and I had hidden behind a statue before I collapsed. She does not take kindly to him. He was sent away, and she came over and waited patiently for my paralyzing horror to leave my body.

I did not tell her about my history with the Aldmeri Dominion and my parents, but I do not think I had to. The wave of panic that struck me upon laying eyes on that Thalmor made it beyond clear. She assures me that he has no power here, and that Arch-Mage Aren (a somewhat aloof but welcoming old Dunmer) and she will see to it that he harms no-one at the school. Madame Mirabelle promises that she will not bow to any of his demands, and that if any trouble arises with him, I can speak to her and she will handle it. Madame Faralda, another Altmer who guards the entrance, says that Madame Mirabelle is the true leader of the College, even though Arch-Mage Aren is...well, Arch-Mage. 

But all the same. I am greatly troubled by this man being here, and I worry that I shall not make the progress I strive for with him about. During my very first lesson, I struggled to focus as I felt his eyes piercing me from afar. 

His presence is alarming. I had heard that the Thalmor wandered Skyrim at will, but outside of the ones I hope were killed at Helgen, I had yet to see any. I feel nervous leaving my chambers now. What if there are Thalmor outside of Winterhold?

As if the journey to get here was not burdensome enough. Crazed men in skullike masks made an attempt on my life in the ville below High Hrothgar. Luckily the guards killed them. I found a note on one’s corpse- someone who believes they are the ‘true Dragonborn’ wants me dead. Whoever they are, they have garnered enough power in the Morrowind isle of Solstheim that they have a cult. Before I go to that island and confront this person, I must be strong. 

I also encountered a vampire who drew my blood and left me very ill. I was lucky enough that her necromanced companion had a small vial of medication on his person, which I took from his ashes once he fell and drank. 

And I think that something is going awry with my spells. I attempted to create a magical path to the College, but ended up in the middle of a frozen tundra surrounded by wolves and spiders. It took me several days to recalibrate the . I do not know where my casting messed up, but I must speak with the Illusion instructor here to figure it out. I cannot risk becoming lost like that again, especially not in a land so unforgiving and potentially crawling with Thalmor. I must also gain more control over my Magicka, or develop more. I currently cannot cast both Oakflesh and Calm at the same time, or cast multiple spells of Calm. I have run from many battles due to this, and it is unbecoming of the Dragonborn.

The good news in all of this is that there are several other apprentice wizards at this College, one of which is a stunning Dunmer woman my age. Her name is Brelyna. She is generally soft-spoken and seems courteous, but is unafraid to voice her opinions when she feels the need. I was surprised to learn that she knows my signs and reads them as quickly as I make them. 

Brelyna says that she is from a magical ancestry, and faces heavy pressure from her family. I understand that feeling well...and I am thankful she is here at the College where nobody tells her how great she should be.

I hope that she does not find me uncomfortable or imposing, as some do. I would very much like to get to know her better, though conversing with her is hard as she only reaches my mid-rib.

We are going to an ancient Nord settlement known as Saarthal within the next few hours. Brelyna is coming, alongside the Alteration expert Master Tolfdir and the other two apprentices, a Nord and a Khajiit. Brelyna says that it is perhaps the very most original settlement of men in Skyrim, and that it was ransacked eons ago by an extinct race called Snow Elves- Falmer, in mer tongue.

Master Tolfdir has been trying to impose upon us the ideology of precaution, and taught us to use Wards today during the aforementioned first lesson. While exploring Saarthal, we will be looking at protective spells placed within its walls. It will be quite cold; Madame Mirabelle has provided me with warm boots to cope with this.

On a final note, it is possible to reach the roof of the College from several stairwells. The summit is large and open, almost as tall as the clouds, and I would very much enjoy dancing atop it. Perhaps I shall do so after the Saarthal expedition, to relieve some of the stress of having a Thalmor around.

Magnus guide me, I must learn magic and I cannot let him stop me!


	7. Skyrim: Entry Seven

Praying to Magnus for aid was not one of my most stellar ideas. Indeed, Magnus has manifested within the College. Or at least, His eye has. 

Saarthal proved rather more interesting than expected. I walked to the site with Brelyna, who talked on about the College and her family. I wish the trip had been longer, so that I could have listened to her more. She is very much like me, though hopefully with a less extreme background.

The Thalmor did not join us, but I was still unable to focus well during the first piece of the expedition for the anxiety of facing him when I returned. Madame Mirabelle said that he was only here because Arch-Mage Aren said he could be. Perhaps I will see Arch-Mage Aren and ask when that wretched man will leave.

Saarthal is very cold, or the outside is anyway, and a snowstorm was raging, so we made haste to get in the walls. Master Tolfdir gave us a brief lecture and then let us go. The Khajiit apprentice, J’zargo, seemed to be searching for treasure, while the Nord, whose name I am unclear on, bemoaned “rifling through the bones of [his] ancestors” and said that the others would not be so willing if it was ours. Brelyna reminded him that Dunmer burn their dead, so rifling through their bones would be impossible. She did, however, sympathize with his reluctance. 

I thought he was being dramatic, but it may be that the Nords worship their ancestors, or it may be that in their pantheon, the god Arkay forbids desecration of the dead? Master Tolfdir showed no signs of reservation, or I didn’t see them. Or maybe I am simply less educated than I thought myself to be, and Master Tolfdir is not at all a Nord. I am unsure, but I will not judge. 

Brelyna was assigned to search for Wards. She later commented that she found none. I was sent to gather enchanted items, which I found four of. One, however, is of particular interest. It was a necklace, and upon pulling it from the wall, I became trapped. Master Tolfdir suggested I wear it to see if that would help.

When I put it on, the air around the wall from which I had removed the pendant began to shimmer, and striking it with a Fear spell caused it to erupt. Master Tolfdir and I ventured inside, and I suddenly had a vision. A tall man, perhaps another Altmer, in robes of a kind that I have never seen, appeared. He told me he represented the long-vanished Psijic Order. He claimed danger was ahead, and that I would be judged based upon my future actions. 

Master Tolfdir did not have this dream, but believed me when I told him. We explored further. The place was, as seems to be Nord custom, guarded by undead that Master Tolfdir called “Draugr”. I am still very weak, it seems, for Master Tolfdir had to aid me much. Perhaps I can ask Brelyna to help me with magic...she seems bright.

Deep, deep within Saarthal, we found what has been dubbed the Eye of Magnus. It is a great, blue glowing orb with some kind of strange power that made its guardian Draugr invincible, and it is covered in markings of some unknown kind. Master Tolfdir asked me to take the news to Arch-Mage Aren, who apparently has a frequent problem with students incinerating. Arch-Mage Aren has requested I begin research on this Eye thing, and gave me an enchanted staff, which was very kind of him and touched me deeply. I do not think I have ever received a gift before.

He also talked about the history of the College, and I asked him about the Psijic Order. He is quite old, it seems, for he once knew a member, and I cannot help but wonder what other incredible and ancient knowledge he has. 

I am going to find Brelyna, and ask her what she thinks of all this.

Certainly, however, I find the College, for the day or so that I have been here, a welcome change from that Dragonborn business. Here I am a mere student, with no grand destiny, and am free to simply be as I am. This Eye of Magnus business and that despicable Thalmor man do indeed put a bit of a damper on things, yet I am rather enjoying myself between the waves of panic...


	8. Skyrim: Entry Eight

The goddess Mara is with me! Brelyna has agreed to help me investigate this orb thing! Last night, as we sat in our dorm and performed an experiment, she mentioned that she would be happy to travel with me if I wanted, and I signed to her that it would be my pleasure. Now she is planning to investigate some missing books that may contain information on Saarthal, books that were stolen by a former apprentice here. I have given her some fur armour that was in my possession (which looks quite charming and flatters her natural form greatly) as well as the gloves I took from that madman who attempted to kill me back in Ivarstead. I think that she will be an excellent companion, and I admit that I have already developed a fair amount of affection of the romantic kind for her.

We must be careful, though. Ancano, as the Thalmor agent is named, is after us. When Madame Faralda told me this, I remember dissolving into a quivering mess, and I remember laying on the floor sobbing. I thought that he had learned of my identity. Madame Faralda was exceedingly kind to me, and even wrapped her arms around me and let me cry into her shoulder. I am embarrassed that she saw me in such a state, but thinking back on her understanding reaction I feel like a small campfire is burning in my heart.

I managed to convey my past between shuddering breaths and tears. I think that I can trust her. She did, after all, come to warn me that Ancano- by the Aedra, I can scarcely write his name- was looking for me. 

She was ever so mild, holding me, rubbing my back and promising me that he was not aware of my past or my identity, and saying that all would be well as long as I am careful. I do not recall the last time someone else touched me and it did not hurt, for I am very sensitive and the hands of those I do not know cause me great pain. But with Madame Faralda, I was alright. She swears that she and the others will do all in their power to protect myself and fellow apprentices, and suggested that perhaps Brelyna and I should take our time with our research expedition. I think we shall do so; Master Urag marked a far-away place for us to fetch these missing texts, and travelling there and back will be an excellent excuse to distance myself from that accursed Thalmor, and spend more time with Brelyna. By the Aedra, I think I grow more fond of her the more I write. We have hardly known each other for more than two days, yet I fancy her to a considerable degree. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, things will turn out happily after all. I feel safer with Madame Faralda and Brelyna on my side.


	9. Skyrim: Entry Nine

Brelyna and I have recovered the books and returned to the College. The place in which they were being kept was called Fellglow Keep or something similar, and it was chock-full of necromancers. I had a good chance to utilize my Illusion spells and luckily we found that we were able to Calm some of the rogue mages long enough to flee before the spell wore off.

The apprentice who stole the books in the first place, Orthorn I believe it was, had been kidnapped and trapped, held for experimentation. There were many other live subjects around- mostly vampires. I wished to free them, but Brelyna was unwilling. We did free our fellow wizard, though. He said that he was planning to return to the College and beg for forgiveness, but after he fled the Keep we did not see him again. I suppose he changed his mind. I would too.

The leader of Fellglow Keep and its cult was an Altmer woman who was simply known as The Caller. I attempted to negotiate with her, but she refused and ultimately, we were forced to kill her.

I did read the books before we left. One was of particular interest, and covered the Night of Tears, when the Falmer attacked the Nord settlement of Saarthal. Purportedly, the Nords had discovered some mysterious object- and I assume this was the Eye of Magnus. I guess even back then Nords had their bizarre fear of magic, because they tried to hide it and bury it away. The Falmer still became aware of it, though, and that is what caused the Night of Tears. I do not know how the Falmer learned of this thing, or if they even reached it. Obviously they did not take it, because we found it. And I am unclear about many of the things surrounding the Eye, like the nearly unbeatable Draugr that I assume- though I may be wrong- was a Nord man.

I digress. We collected our books and began to return to Master Urag. It was a long journey, but I mind not. We had many good discussions on our few days of travel. She told me some of Dunmer history and culture, like their relation to the Orcs through a godly fight. I do vaguely recall that- I think it was before us Altmer had evolved, and while the Dunmer were still Chimer. But no matter the era, the Dunmer god Boethiah did consume (the literalness of this statement is debatable) the Altmer god Trinimac, and transformed him into the Orsimer god Malacath, who created the Orsimer. 

It does worry me how little I have learned about Nord culture so far; all I know is that they do not like magic. But it has only been a few weeks. Perhaps I will ask our Nord classmate.

Master Urag did not have much of a reaction to the return of his books, though Brelyna claims that he sounded pleased. I did not hear any such emotion in his voice. He did offer me several copies of works from his personal collection, however, a gesture that almost brought tears to my eyes. I do collect books, after all. I cannot wait to read what he gave me.

I reported my findings to Master Tolfdir. We were discussing our research when Ancano interrupted us. I do believe that my heart stopped, and I instinctively began to cast Oakflesh. Brelyna and Master Tolfdir - may the gods bless them - stepped in and spoke for me.

A man claiming to be from the Psijic Order had come and asked for me by name. Ancano was furious. I am beyond suspicious of him. The Thalmor are wretched and evil, and I am certain that if he discovers anything he can use from this Eye, he will destroy us all. 

The Psijic man, a kind and polite fellow who was not the same man from my dream, also seems to agree. He did not say Ancano’s name outright, but suggested that the Eye’s untapped power is dangerous, and that something terrible will happen soon. I have been told to find a...thing...that used to be a student here. He called it the Augur of Dulain- I asked Arch-Mage Aren about that man afterwards, but he refused to speak of it. Brelyna has no idea what it is, and worries that I may get into trouble.

I did not know this monk’s name, but when he saw me he cast some kind of spell that froze everyone else in time. He said that it was a pleasure to meet me in person, that I have great potential and that the Psijic Order will always keep a watch over me. I take a strange sort of comfort in that. We were unable to converse for long, unfortunately. His spell soon broke, and he pretended that nothing had happened, leaving as quickly as he came. Everyone was quite confused, and I pretended along with them all. I told the truth Brelyna later, as we walked into town to get a drink, and she does not know what to make of things.

I am certain this Augur is somewhere within the College. I simply need to find him...


	10. Skyrim: Entry Ten

I found and spoke to the Augur. Things are grim, and my stomach feels like a deep pit. Brelyna and I are on our way to a Dwemer ruin called...I am not sure what it is called, I did not write that part down. 

When we are not travelling, we are resting. We have little time. But tonight I cannot sleep. My mind is too full, and I struggle to relax without proper bedding. 

Brelyna is asleep. We found a small covered area amongst the brush, but I cannot get comfortable. I detest sleeping on the ground. I feel so utterly disgusting afterwards, so very filthy.

There is a small stream just off the path. I removed my shoes and hitched up my skirt and went wading. I felt much cleaner afterwards, as the water was clear and cold. There were many small stones lining the riverbed, very smooth and slick against my skin. Tiny fish nibbled at my legs and feet. Petite surface-sliding insects glided about in the moonlight. 

I couldn’t help but dance under such a dark and starry sky, but it was less than helpful in the long run. The Augur told me that disaster is unavoidable now, and I cannot shake the feeling that someone is going to die. My shoulders are sore from dread.

Ancano is up to something. I know it. The Augur knows it too. Ancano had come before I had, asking about the Eye of Magnus. I despise the Thalmor so very much.

The Augur is indescribable. He is not a human, he is not anything, he does not have a form or a face, and in fact, the bones scattered around him may very well be his, although I did not question that. He speaks, but he has no lungs, no mouth. He sees, but he has no eyes. He knows, but he has no mind, no head.

He...resides, if it can be called that, underneath the College in a place called the Midden. It is a strange, dark, damp series of tunnels infested with disproportionate amounts of skeletons both unmoving and reanimated, and oddly stocked with potions and food, as if others come often. 

Someone has placed bones on the wall, a skull in the centre and perhaps finger bones surrounding it, with larger pieces crossed behind the skull, almost ritualistically. There is an ‘Atronach Forge’ down there as well. I tried it- it creates hostile Atronachs. A Daedric symbol in glowing orange marks the centre, and I think that there is a missing piece, but I know not what it is or where it is. Notably, there was a large spine-thing, from some sort of giant animal, protruding from the ground in front of the forge. 

Deeper within, there is a mechanical hand. It did nothing- I do not know what it is. 

I think I will return there some day, and try to unravel those mysteries. For now, however, I must fetch a powerful staff, supposedly made by Magnus himself. It is said that this artifact is the only item on Mundas that can contain Magnus’ power. I admit; I am surprised such an object exists. Magnus is, after all, an immensely dynamic force.

I am not clear on what exactly this staff does, and Brelyna sees no point in collecting it, but we have both agreed that the Augur, which seems to have traded his ability to move for omnipotence, should be obeyed. 

Arch-Mage Aren was not as angry as I thought he would be when we informed him of our visit to the Augur. In fact, he was pleased, and directly said so. He has given me an old circlet of his, which I wear now, and I admit that I got a little teary-eyed when he handed it to me. Brelyna says that he seems very fond of me, and rarely interacts with apprentices, but he has been watching my progress as a mage and person, and though I cannot see improvement, he can. 

He said that Madame Mirabelle had mentioned the staff, and when I asked her she said that Synod mages- political and magical figures from Cyrodiil- had come asking about it. These Dwarven ruins I am walking to are their current location.

Mostly, the trip has been uneventful, but after a stop in Whiterun for supplies (during which a shopkeeper I aided gave me some free potions, once again making me cry), a dragon attacked. We killed it, of course, but Brelyna is now aware that I am Dragonborn, as I involuntarily absorbed its soul again.

She did not think much of it, for which I am grateful. Although it was fascinating to her, she recognized the pressure that comes from such a status. I suppose being Dovahkiin is somewhat like being a Telvanni wizard, from what I have been told. 

The sun will soon rise. I must try to get some sleep, as fitful as it may be. Magnus guide me.


	11. Skyrim: Entry Eleven

I found and spoke to the Augur. Things are grim, and my stomach feels like a deep pit. Brelyna and I are on our way to a Dwemer ruin called...I am not sure what it is called, I did not write that part down. 

When we are not travelling, we are resting. We have little time. But tonight I cannot sleep. My mind is too full, and I struggle to relax without proper bedding. 

Brelyna is asleep. We found a small covered area amongst the brush, but I cannot get comfortable. I detest sleeping on the ground. I feel so utterly disgusting afterwards, so very filthy.

There is a small stream just off the path. I removed my shoes and hitched up my skirt and went wading. I felt much cleaner afterwards, as the water was clear and cold. There were many small stones lining the riverbed, very smooth and slick against my skin. Tiny fish nibbled at my legs and feet. Petite surface-sliding insects glided about in the moonlight. 

I couldn’t help but dance under such a dark and starry sky, but it was less than helpful in the long run. The Augur told me that disaster is unavoidable now, and I cannot shake the feeling that someone is going to die. My shoulders are sore from dread.

Ancano is up to something. I know it. The Augur knows it too. Ancano had come before I had, asking about the Eye of Magnus. I despise the Thalmor so very much.

The Augur is indescribable. He is not a human, he is not anything, he does not have a form or a face, and in fact, the bones scattered around him may very well be his, although I did not question that. He speaks, but he has no lungs, no mouth. He sees, but he has no eyes. He knows, but he has no mind, no head.

He...resides, if it can be called that, underneath the College in a place called the Midden. It is a strange, dark, damp series of tunnels infested with disproportionate amounts of skeletons both unmoving and reanimated, and oddly stocked with potions and food, as if others come often. 

Someone has placed bones on the wall, a skull in the centre and perhaps finger bones surrounding it, with larger pieces crossed behind the skull, almost ritualistically. There is an ‘Atronach Forge’ down there as well. I tried it- it creates hostile Atronachs. A Daedric symbol in glowing orange marks the centre, and I think that there is a missing piece, but I know not what it is or where it is. Notably, there was a large spine-thing, from some sort of giant animal, protruding from the ground in front of the forge. 

Deeper within, there is a mechanical hand. It did nothing- I do not know what it is. 

I think I will return there some day, and try to unravel those mysteries. For now, however, I must fetch a powerful staff, supposedly made by Magnus himself. It is said that this artifact is the only item on Mundas that can contain Magnus’ power. I admit; I am surprised such an object exists. Magnus is, after all, an immensely dynamic force.

I am not clear on what exactly this staff does, and Brelyna sees no point in collecting it, but we have both agreed that the Augur, which seems to have traded his ability to move for omnipotence, should be obeyed. 

Arch-Mage Aren was not as angry as I thought he would be when we informed him of our visit to the Augur. In fact, he was pleased, and directly said so. He has given me an old circlet of his, which I wear now, and I admit that I got a little teary-eyed when he handed it to me. Brelyna says that he seems very fond of me, and rarely interacts with apprentices, but he has been watching my progress as a mage and person, and though I cannot see improvement, he can. 

He said that Madame Mirabelle had mentioned the staff, and when I asked her she said that Synod mages- political and magical figures from Cyrodiil- had come asking about it. These Dwarven ruins I am walking to are their current location.

Mostly, the trip has been uneventful, but after a stop in Whiterun for supplies (during which a shopkeeper I aided gave me some free potions, once again making me cry), a dragon attacked. We killed it, of course, but Brelyna is now aware that I am Dragonborn, as I involuntarily absorbed its soul again.

She did not think much of it, for which I am grateful. Although it was fascinating to her, she recognized the pressure that comes from such a status. I suppose being Dovahkiin is somewhat like being a Telvanni wizard, from what I have been told. 

The sun will soon rise. I must try to get some sleep, as fitful as it may be. Magnus guide me.


	12. Skyrim: Entry Twelve

Arch-Mage Aren and Madame Mirabelle are dead. I am the new Arch-Mage.

I can scarcely comprehend what has happened...much took place in the week or so since my last entry, and I am shaken with grief and shock.

To process it all, I shall write everything down. This will be a longer entry than I prefer, and it will greatly hurt my fingers, I think, but I do not know what else to do. I will have to take time between writing...my hands do not function well and writing more than a page or so causes me excruciating pain and weariness.

Brelyna and I returned to the College as quickly as we could. We only stopped for sleep and once in Whiterun, where I purchased new armour for her, and received a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath that I have not yet read.

I think we should not have made that stop...if we had moved faster, Arch-Mage Aren might still be alive.

When we made our way into the Hall of the Elements, we found Arch-Mage Aren and Madame Mirabelle throwing destruction spells at what appeared to be some kind of extra-powerful Ward blocking the gate. With my help, they broke it, and we confronted Ancano.

I must make a confession. It is my fault Arch-Mage Aren is dead. He died protecting me.

I ignored Madame Mirabelle’s warning and attempted to attack Ancano. I had just cast Stoneflesh when there was an explosion. I remember seeing a Ward in front of me, and then I was flung across the room and I must have hit a wall because I believe I was knocked unconscious. 

I do not know how long I was out, but I awoke to Brelyna holding me and Ancano surrounded by a Ward like the one in the doorway, but stronger and larger.

Madame Mirabelle was injured. The last time I saw her, she was leaned against a pillar holding her leg and side. If I could turn back time, I would heed her words and step away from Ancano...maybe then she would still be alive, and so would Arch-Mage Aren.

I found Arch-Mage Aren’s body outside in the courtyard. He was lying face-down in the snow, bleeding from the mouth. I think his neck was broken- by the Aedra, I do not even wish to remember this…when I saw him, I doubled over. The pain is great- greater even than the burns of a dragon’s breath. To know that even Arch-Mage Aren died because of me...surely I am the worst of the Dragonborn.

I have no shame in admitting that I wept. The air was so cold that my tears turned to crystals, but I wept anyways. I have only been at the College for a month and a half, but Arch-Mage Aren was more of a family to me than my real parents could have ever been. Even in my travels few have been genuinely good-willed and none have ever gifted me anything or told me they were proud of me. Arch-Mage Aren helped me in ways I cannot describe, and I think that if not for him I would have never been able to face the Thalmor.

So I mourn him intensely, and had Brelyna not pulled me to my feet I think I would have continued to weep at his corpse. Thankfully, Brelyna was at my side and brought me to my senses, telling me that Arch-Mage Aren would not want his death to distract me from my duties.

Ancano had released strange magical anomalies upon Winterhold, and Brelyna, Madame Faralda and Master Arniel Gane accompanied me to battle them. Once they were all defeated, Madame Faralda promised she would hold the ground there and sent me back to Madame Mirabelle. 

Madame Mirabelle gave me two artifacts of Arch-Mage Aren’s. One helped me get into Labyrinthian. The other was an amulet he had worn, taken from his body as he was hastily burned, per Dunmeris tradition. I wish I could have been there to say a proper good-bye, but I was not. 

So we made for Labyrinthian, and that was the last I saw of Madame Mirabelle. We never found her remains. She was trying to evacuate the College, but did not succeed, and vanished. 

I killed Thalmor while racing to fetch the Staff of Magnus. I never thought I had it in me to attack unprovoked, but I did. I saw them, and I directed an Atronach down to rain fiery fury upon them without fear. 

There is a mask in my possession from the outskirts of the dungeon. It is made of wood, and it emits some bizarre magical energy. I know not what it is, and I wish that I could have shown Arch-Mage Aren. There is also a maze, built by archaic mage named Shalidor. I intend to return to that and unravel its secrets.

I saw him one last time within Labyrinthian, or a shade of his anyway. He was with many others, Nords and an Argonian, and none of them responded to me. I tugged at his robes, but he looked past me. It was a simple illusion. I prefer to imagine that he left those apparitions there for me. I think they were a warning, and they showed his past. 

He had come to Labyrinthian many long years ago with other apprentices. His companions died one-by-one, and every so often I saw the ghostly figures again with one less among their numbers.

The very first room was littered with skeletons, as was the room beyond it, and those long-dead who had failed in the endeavor that I had come to emulate rose to drive me back. Amongst them was even the remnants of a dragon, soulless and dead as could be.

This was where the first apprentice from Arch-Mage Aren’s time died. There was nothing left of him, they said.

I found a spellbook left behind from some poor soul who had died in here. It was for an Alteration spell, Telekinesis. I have not yet tried it.

Someone within the place spoke to me. I suspect that it was the undead man who carried the Staff of Magnus. His very voice drained my Magicka to its last drop, and he first spoke to me in another tongue, then in ours. It appeared he thought I was Arch-Mage Aren.

Not sure how he mistook a 19 year old Altmer for a century-plus old Dunmer, but he did. I will give him credit- he eventually realized I was not who he thought. 

Only three of the phantoms remained by the time we reached the final room. Arch-Mage Aren and two others...we found the others shortly after seeing their final moments. 

Arch-Mage Aren had trapped them eternally, sacrificing them to hold the power inside Labyrinthian there forever. He had known all along where the Staff was, but refused to speak of it for fear that Brelyna and I would end up like his friends had so many years ago.

The realization is earthshattering. He had played oblivious for my sake, for Brelyna’s sake, to protect us…

We freed the imprisoned wizards, long-dead specters that sighed in relief when slain. Then their prisoner escaped- he who wielded the Staff of Magnus. Facing him was grueling, but we came out on top, and the Staff is now ours. I saw Arch-Mage Aren for one final moment, and then his spirit was gone.

Ancano sent a Thalmor after us. He was not fire-resistant. 

Madame Mirabelle was dead by the time we made it home. I ordered Tolfdir and Brelyna to evacuate those she had died trying to rescue, and then we faced Ancano. He now lays dead at the bottom of the cliff upon which the College sits.

The Eye has been removed. The Psijics appeared to take it, and named me Arch-Mage. I now sit alone in what used to be Arch-Mage Aren’s quarters. 

I wish I had never come here.


	13. Skyrim: Entry Thirteen

What would I do without Brelyna? But Auri-El knows. It was she who convinced me to finally leave my chambers after several long months of mourning.

I was visited by several of my now-colleagues during my period of grieving. Brelyna stayed with me in my quarters, and Madame Faralda came often with tea and books. I have such strong love for the both of them- I can only hope that Brelyna one day returns my affections, and Madame Faralda is more of a mother to me than the lady that birthed me. 

Master Drevis, the Illusion expert, did also enter at one point, simply expressing sympathies and that he too was in great lamenting over Arch-Mage Aren’s murder. Once or twice Master Tolfdir called on me, though he did not stay long.

I spent what time I was not aching over our loss creating potions. The Arch-Mage left a fanciful garden full of many ingredients ripe for the picking. I have taken on the role of Alchemy teacher, which is strange because I am by far no expert. 

Master Tolfdir granted me the Arch-Mage’s robes when I became Arch-Mage. I believe they are enchanted- Arch-Mage Aren was many heads shorter than I, yet his robes fit me perfectly. I have also donned his circlet, which he gave me before he died, and his amulet, gifted to me by Madame Mirabelle after his corpse was decorated for cremation.

The robes are wonderful. Soft, with the right amount of pressure in the right places. Heavy but not over-warm. Truly comforting. 

More than a few lunar cycles came and went before Brelyna persuaded me to return to Labyrinthian and investigate that maze for which the place is named.

I feel it would be a disgrace to detail what was within Shalidor’s Maze, but what I will say is that it was simultaneously horrifying and chilled me to my very bone, and also wonderous in its mysteries and conception. Four staffs decorated the entrance, and beneath them lay a long-dead man, naked and burnt, with a note and a soul gem clutched tight in his hands. The Maze itself was little like a maze, but rather wound around and around, with skeevers roaming its halls. At the end was another one of those strange walls with Dragon Shouts inscribed upon them. Returning to the maze revealed a completely different set of corridors, which led me to what Shalidor called the Trial of Conjuration, in which I faced a Daedra known as a Dremora (I believe they are associated with Sanguine, but I may be wrong). I killed him, and from his head took his crown. I have passed.

There was an abandoned Barrow but a short walk away from Shalidor’s Maze. It was not much different from the rest of Skyrim’s tombs, aside from having two immensely powerful Draugr within. Although there was one strange room, a tiny enclave away from the rest of the dungeon, where a skeleton lay chained to the wall beside his bedroll. That was bizarre, and I shudder to think of what happened to him.

I looted a beautiful ebony bow and many ebony arrows from one of the Draugr we faced, and presented to to Brelyna. She is amazing and lovely, and I am so so blessed to have her by my side. It has been months since we met, and I think I am in love with her. I have no intentions of telling her this-I do not even know if she loves women like I do- but having her with me is so very divine.

We are now on our way to the hold of Falkreath, govern’d by a Jarl named Siddgeir. He sent me a letter quite some time ago, and I figure it is time I responded.


	14. Skyrim: Entry Fourteen

Something occurred to me today. I cannot leave Skyrim. Becoming Arch-Mage means that I have duties in Skyrim. I cannot leave the province permanently. And of equal or greater importance, I am not sure if Brelyna would be willing to move with me...I do not know what to do...

I thought of this because I was granted permission to purchase property in Falkreath by Jarl Siddgeir after doing a small job for him. Nords seem to be very willing to give out important rewards. Kind of them, I suppose, if mildly baffling. 

During our trek to Falkreath, Brelyna and I passed through Helgen, or what remains of it. The once-proud town is now haunted by bandits and marred by the crisp remains of those slain by that great black dragon. There were some bottles of mead with juniper berries mixed in lying inside the foundation of one of the houses. I seem to recall one of the Nords on the cart with me mentioning that. It all seems so long ago...it was little less than year, but I feel as if I was taken through Helgen decades ago...

Falkreath was farther than I anticipated; it was nightfall when we arrived. The inn we stayed in has a morbid name- Dead Man’s Drink, I think it was. Falkreath is built around a large cemetery, one that holds many generations of soldiers and civilians alike. The shoppes all have terribly grim titles- even the farm is called Corpselight. 

There was a Nord woman drinking in the inn by the fire. I bumped into her, and in a flash she turned on me. Any attempt to diffuse the situation failed. 

I am sure it was a great first impression to see an Atronach and a drunk Nord battling, but as she attacked me, I received no bounty for directing her death. Brelyna later said the other customers seemed fearful of me, though. 

The innkeeper was nice, though. She gave me a slip of paper, a bounty letter for a dragon somewhere in the hold. I will look into it shortly. 

Jarl Siddgeir is much younger than I imagined him to be, with a sharp, wide face and terrible posture. I suspect he does not do as much work as perhaps a Jarl should, and I know that he has had dealings with bandits because he told me and asked me to kill them. I did so...I do still struggle with standing up for myself and saying no.

Somehow, the Thalmor got word of Ancano’s death, and a warrant has been released among their numbers for my body. A squadron of them attacked me as I was on my way to do Jarl Siddgeir’s assignment.

I think that in some twisted way, losing Arch-Mage Aren and Madame Mirabelle to the Thalmor has helped me learn to fight them. Being forced to face Ancano all alone showed me that I am not submissive to them, not anymore. They will not have the satisfaction of my meekness. 

So I battled them and I emerged victorious. The bandits I was seeking proved no problem afterwards.

I saw a creature today I’d never seen before. Brelyna called it a Spriggan. It was shaped like an Atronach, beautifully formed, noncorporeal with floating green leaves like insects buzzing around their body, swiping with claws of thistles and branches, and in their chest they have a twisted root for a heart. They guard Skyrim’s forests, or at least they try to, but it more seems like they just go for everything they see. 

Falkreath is lovely. I think I will continue wandering here for a while.


	15. Skyrim: Entry Fifteen

I have...made a very difficult decision over the past few weeks. I am going to purchase property and build a home in Falkreath. 

Travelling the rest of Tamriel will be difficult, but Falkreath is a dazzling place. As far away as it is from the College, the abundance of alchemical ingredients and those fascinating Spriggan creatures will make it a nice place to study, and personally building my home will give me a chance to accommodate my height. Perhaps Brelyna will be willing to live with me...she has stuck by my side for so much, after all...

I have had to share a bed with her on a few occasions when we did not have the coin to buy two rooms. She laughs in her sleep sometimes, and it is absolutely adorable...but still, I do not know if she likes women, and I do not know how to ask her without revealing my intentions. 

We have been wandering back and forth between Falkreath and Whiterun for a bit. Farengar has been so kind as to allow me to utilize his alchemy and enchanting tables, and take some of his books. One is a work that details Nord culture- it was quite the read.

-Nords often wear their hair in braids, and have for centuries.  
-they are a fair race, often blonde and blue-eyed.   
-fur and leather armour is their preference.  
-despite the belief of other races, Nords are often literate and perhaps learn from their fathers.   
-Nords value smithing and a long line of Nords in Whiterun- the Gray-Manes- have tended to the ancient flames of Skyforge.

Back in Falkreath, there is a large burial ground with two exits, mazelike and filled with skeletons rather than Draugr. There was also a vampire- I battled her alone after being separated from Brelyna, and I took her armour from her corpse and surprised Brelyna with it. It is quite nice, red in colour with two windows across the breast, long-sleeved and decorative. She looks so elegant and breathtaking in it…I wish she would return my feelings.

Ah, aside from my forlorn love rambles, we have been continuing to explore. Brelyna seems to enjoy these forests and sunlight-dappled paths. During our excursion, we came across an injured hunter, the only survivor of a Spriggan attack. I gave him one of my potions and helped him retrieve his friends’ bodies. The Spriggans were fierce, and there were three of them, but we emerged victorious, and he was able to give his friends their final rites. In exchange for my help, he granted me one of their daggers. Something about it is special- it is not enchanted, but there is something different about it.

Now I am searching for work in this town to pay for the new property. Just now I finished delivering a man’s ashes to the local priest of Arkay, an Altmer veteran who has asked me to find his journal.


	16. Skyrim: Entry Sixteen

I am...so exhausted. I feel like I am living within a dream, and I mean that not in a good way. All across Skyrim, to the very edges of the province, at the demand of the Daedric Lord Clavicus Vile...because I tried to catch a dog. 

The blacksmith in Falkreath was looking for one, and I offered to find it for him. That dog, it turned out, was a Daedra named Barbas, Vile’s familiar. He and Vile have had an argument, and he asked that I reunite them. 

It seems Vile is a very weak Prince. Without Barbas, he is stuck in his shrine in a mountainous cave. It was populated by vampires. I heard they were seeking a cure for their condition, and Clavicus Vile praised me for killing them, saying that it was the perfect granting of their wish. I understood then why Barbas told me not to make any deals with Vile, and so when Vile asked me what I wanted I told him I simply wished to bring Barbas back to him.

Initially, he refused, calling Barbas a miserable pup, but after a moment of thought, he agreed on one condition: I fetch an axe for him. It was made by him, given to a man who wished to cure his Hircine-worshipping daughter of her lycanthropy...not sure how that was supposed to work, but whatever. 

The axe was in another gave, guarded by who I assume is the man whom it was given to. Fighting him was chaos. There were sparks and magic and Flame Atronachs everywhere in the tiny little cavern, until we killed him and took the axe.

The journey here was more intense than all the rest of my time here, I think. After a short shopping trip in Whiterun, we took to the road, and just outside Falkreath we encountered a great jade-coloured dragon that breathed frost instead of fire. It was easy to see how Vile relies so heavily on Barbas; despite being in the body of a wolfhound, he is stronger than both I and Brelyna. 

We also found the warm bodies of two lovers, eloped by what the woman’s journal said. They had been killed by a sabrecat, their fire still lit and their corpses not even cold. One was a Dunmer. We cremated him. The other was a Breton, and we buried her. Her records lay near her. She was apparently of high class, with maids to attend to her, and called the Dunmer she lay with a “commoner”, and said her father would never approve of their relationship. 

I feel horrid for them, and I could not help but remember the woman who died for me on High Hrothgar. 

There was a mine out in the rural hills that we passed through. The man who owns it stopped us as we walked by, and warned us that there were Draugr in the mine, presumably under the impression that we were there to mine. I offered to clear the mine, and did so. The Draugr were indeed plentiful, very aggressive. I admit that they send chills down my spine, they way they shudder and creak. 

The mine’s owner was very grateful, and paid us almost a thousand coin for the work. I wish the best for him. 

Less pure were the Hagravens, decrepit half-woman/half-bird monsters, witches, Barbas said, associated with the Forsworn. Forsworn are related to Bretons in some way, which I suppose makes them distant relatives of my own as well. They were driven from their homes by Nords, and now roam the Reach in Skyrim wearing impractical armour and wielding primitive weapons. Those that do not hold sharp stone grafted to wood or razorlike swords cast frosty and fiery magic. Their camps are decorated by severed animal heads and skulls, and they sleep in hide tents. I find them interesting; I believe I have a book on them. I should read it. 

I would like to reiterate that this all happened because of a Daedric Lord. An actual god. I am still not sure this is real.

A few hours away from the cave where I found the Rueful Axe, I encountered two young boys. I am not sure where their parents were, but I played along with them and bought the location of a Dwemer ruin from them for a piece of gold. They were sweet...perhaps I will adopt a child of my own someday. 

It is now time to return to Vile and give him this axe. I intend to stay at the College for a few days first, however. It is my responsibility.

Gods, this cave is so cold. But I must rest. This has been so terribly taxing on many levels.


	17. Skyrim: Entry Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading this! i appreciate all of you and i absolutely love reading your comments! i have been insecure about how well i've portrayed akalera as autistic and anxious, but you all seem to be enjoying my work and that makes me happy. love you!

Winterhold is such a nice little town. The guards might hate the College, but the innkeepers are kind and welcoming to me. They are even allowing me to practice my Illusion spells on them by casting Courage repeatedly. 

A former College member lives in the in- his name is Nelacar, an Altmer, like myself, and he no longer works with us but he acknowledges me as Arch-Mage and greeted me very politely. 

The College is well. I have some errands to run for my colleagues, a book to find for Master Urag in Falkreath and an item to pick up for enchantment in Riften, specifically.

Ancano’s meddling did cause a mild disturbance near Saarthal, but that was quite easily remedied with the Staff of Magnus. Master Tolfdir seemed concerned I may have...somehow returned the Staff of Magnus? I was not sure why he thought I would have done that, but I had not, so it was all well. 

The disruption almost appeared to be some sort of tear in reality, and had I not already faced Ancano and the effects of the full Eye, I can see how it would have been terrifying. Thankfully it was quite small, though, and I closed it with relative ease.

Master Drevis had me take a pair of gloves and help him cleanse some magical focus points around the College as well, which was oddly satisfying. Putting my hands into the points felt like plunging my arms into the ocean, but thicker and almost gelatinous. I would quite like to help him clean those points again. 

I bought some interesting books from Master Urag. One details Skyrim’s holds; I should read that now. 

-every Hold is about the same in purpose as a county in Cyrodiil. Four Holds have little population, and five are large.

-Eastmarch is the Hold in which Ulfric Stormcloak resides, a wintery place that I must be careful in, for my Altmeri ethnicity will surely draw hostility.

-Haafingar is where High King Torygg lived and where High Queen Elisif now rules. It is a trade-heavy county, and those who live within it are said to be quite hospital. 

-Hjaalmarch is a tundra and swamp-riddled Hold. It is govern’d by Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, who has high levels of self-interest, but also supports the Empire. I have heard from a colleague that a Conjuration expert, Master Falion, now lives here after abandoning his teaching position at the College due to aminosity with Arch-Mage Aren. Perhaps with myself as the new leader he will be willing to return.

-the Pale is a cold, icy region at the edge of Skyrim’s coast.

-the Reach, as I saw, is mountainous and dangerous, dotted by Forsworn campsites. They count all who pass through as enemies.

-the Rift is a milder but equally mountainous Hold, populated by farmers who thrive in its rich soils, but also marred by a Thieves Guild that, although weak, still makes pickpocketing a problem in Riften. 

-I am already familiar with Whiterun, but the book does mention that it is amongst the wealthiest.

I also acquired a book detailing Skyrim’s ruling system. 

-Skyrim’s leaders rely less on assassination than do the Great Houses of Morrowind, who employ the Mephala-worshipping Morag Tong, or the Argonian King of Black Marsh, who calls upon the Shadowscales.

-Nords have quite the reputation as savages, I have heard, and even heard some in my travels call them so. But each Jarl has a court of his or her own and in that court there are very specific jobs. Court Wizards, like Farengar, advise the Jarl on magic, and provide services and goods to the people who visit the Keep. Stewards serve as the primary advisor on other matters, and Housecarls like Irileth fight to protect the Jarl at the cost of their own life if needed.

-the High King is supposedly elected via a council called a Moot, but under the Empire the High King is usually just the Jarl of Solitude.

I should get back to the road, however; Barbas is waiting for me back with Vile, and I need to deliver that axe. 

I will retreat here again soon. Winterhold is a wonderful place, and I love my College greatly.


	18. Entry Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for how long this has taken! i was playing more breath of the wild than skyrim and i recently bought oblivion. side note- i'm going to be starting a new series for the journals of my hero of kvatch characters, staring with my dunmer brawler drayn!

It would appear that I have gained a bit of a reputation, seeing as upon stepping out of the inn, a Nord in fur armour was waiting for me. He demanded to duel me, one-on-one. I told him I refused, but he said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Brelyna insisted on helping me, much to the challenger’s fury, and ultimately I killed him with a Frost Atronach. I probably should have used a Flame...the death was gruesome. I feel bad for the guards I left cleaning it, but I could not be near the body. I felt sick.

Clavicus Vile asked me to kill Barbas with the axe I fetched- if I had, he would have given me the axe. I suppose I should have expected that; Clavicus Vile did say that there would be no nasty surprises for me specifically. 

I turned down his offer, of course. He called me boring, but held to his word, granting me a mask of his face and then accepting Barbas back into his realm. Barbas vanished in a swirl of violet Conjuration smoke, and then his form appeared beside Clavicus Vile in the statue. 

After that, I returned to exploring Falkreath. Gods, it is so very bewitching. I would love to live here with Brelyna...I hope she will be willing to stay with me. Not that I have asked her...or plan to...

I found Runil’s journal and that book Master Urag wanted, both in the same cave. Necromancers had gotten ahold of them both, though I do not know for what they needed these old pages. Perhaps Runil wrote some secret Thalmor magics in there...none but those who stole it know, I suppose. 

Jarl Siddgeir named me Thane of his Hold after I returned Runil’s memoirs to him. It amuses me how freely Skyrim Nords give out such titles and privileges. My Housecarl is a strong-voiced Redguard woman named Rayya; I should get to building my house so that she has a place to stay. 

There is a strange little place in Falkreath called Halldir’s Cairn. It is no longer what it was when I found it, but it has killed many. 

I was collecting mushrooms for my potions when I stumbled across it, a rank, deep cave with a tower of soft blue light standing atop a pile of sharp rocks, littered by corpses. Most were skeletal, but three...three were fresh.

One had a journal neatly placed on a pedastal. It details his friends’ fall into madness and their suicides for the undead man- Halldir- who resided within. The last entry outlines the writer’s own plan to kill himself- I guess he was the most recent body, not yet soaked with the stench of death.

The ghosts of the dead haunted the many levels that I travelled to end this madness. I presume Halldir had lured people to insanity with that magic and entrapped their souls forever…

Notedly, Skyrim ghosts seem weaker than Cyrodiilic ones. I never fought whilst in Cyrodiil, but I heard a story about a hero who fought off an onslaught of ghosts in a haunted house with a silver dagger. Apparently, silver and magic are the only ways to defeat ghosts in Cyrodiil, but ghosts in Skyrim can be banished with any weapon- even one’s fists. I have also heard the living dead are weaker here as well. Perhaps it is the cold, or the Nords’ rumoured distaste for magical practices. 

Halldir himself was a skeleton, or partially a skeleton, with bits of leathery flesh and a cloak of ice. He wielded a staff- a staff that now belongs to Brelyna.

It took longer to remove him than I wanted, but all the same he had little chance against Brelyna and my Atronachs. 

After that ordeal, though, we stopped in Whiterun for some rest and supplies, and continued to Riften.

There is a small farm outside of Riften. It would be unremarkable if it were not for the two who live there- Dunmer, sisters, but skilled that they grow Nirnroot plants. I have never heard of someone with such an ability. Nirnroot is notoriously difficult to grow, and it is said to never regenerate after being plucked. 

We did not stay at the farm long. The chiming noise of those roots is overwhelming, and my ears still ring. But before we left, I offered to help the eldest sister, who requested twenty jazbay grapes. My quarters have a vine, I think- perhaps I should check to see if they have bloomed when I next visit the College.

We then made our way to Riften. It is a corrupt hold, and Brelyna quite nearly lost her temper with guards who tried to extort me. There was another magical anomaly outside the gates, too- fortunately, I still have the Staff on my person.

And inside, a man approached me with desperation so strong even I could sense it. He has been set up by a woman named Sapphire, and now he owed her debt and interest. I promised to help him, though seeing the woman now as she stands in the tavern, I fear that I may not be able to convince her to let him go. I shudder to think of how I shall approach her. 

I was also accosted by a man I believe works with her, who asked me to help him frame a poor merchant- an Argonian, I think, from the name he gave. I refused him, although he still glares at me across the inn. And as he badgered me, a priest lectured the people on the evils of drinking. I should look into a spell that would mute the outside world. 

The priest was actually my client, though, the one who wants an item enchanted. So I had to talk to him, after he was thrown out for his ramblings. Brelyna commented that it sounded like he did this rather often. I pity the residents of this infernal city.

I have to ask Sapphire about that man’s debt...I have to just breathe in and do it.


	19. Entry Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who are also in the oblivion fandom, i have a new work posted. it's the journal of my hero of kvatch, drayn, who is actually the great-aunt of one of the dragonborn characters this series will feature. please give it a read and a comment if you would.

I did it! I talked to her! And I cleared the debt! I even managed to call her out for trying to extort him. 

I feel like she was looking down on me for my inability to speak, and the entire time I signed my demands my spine crawled, but when Brelyna translated the bit about extortion, her lip curled and she relented. The poor fellow was thrilled. I wonder how many times she has taken advantage of him in this manner.

We also met the man that Sapphire’s friend wanted me to frame. He is not Argonian, as his name would imply, but rather a Dunmer. Brelyna noticed this oddity too, and asked him about it. He said he was orphaned, and his name is because he was raised Argonian. He may even be a member of Brelyna’s Great House, the Telvanni. It would be wonderful if he was- Brelyna has no family here in Skyrim, and hers back in Morrowind is overbearing. So I offered to help him- I think he deserves to know what happened, anyway. He seems quite kind, and he never appeared to react to the fact that I must communicate through signs. I very much like him. He has a friend- one who is an Argonian, named Madesi, and I have agreed to find a mammoth tusk and two flawless sapphires for him. The man I helped has a girlfriend named Marise, and she asked me to find five ice wraith teeth. And the owner of the inn I stayed in, Talen-Jei, accepted our offer to collect three flawless amethysts so he can marry. 

Brelyna is laughing at me because along with all those other errands, I offered to deliver an ore sample for the local alchemist and fetch a bow for a farmer who was robbed. She says I am too helpful for my own good. Maybe she is right.

Shor’s Stone is where the alchemist wanted me to deliver the ore sample. It is a small, quiet town, with no shops or inn, just a blacksmith and miners. We are sitting around a fire now, late at night, since we have no place to stay.

On our way here, we passed by a fort that was occupied by bandits. Since they attacked us, we were forced to retaliate, and we discovered the fort hid a dog-fighting ring. While Brelyna handled the bandits and betters, I cast Calm on the dogs and set them free. I hope they manage to make it out there…

Ah, Brelyna has found some bedrolls. We should get some rest.


	20. Skyrim: Entry Twenty

I cannot believe I only have twenty entries in this province’s notes. I have been here what feels like forever, and yet looking back it has barely been a year. Only a few months ago I met Brelyna, and only a few months ago I learned I was a Nord legend, and only a few months ago that woman on High Hrothgar died for me, and then Arch-Mage Aren did the same...all of this, barely a year.

I am back at the College, about to make my way to Morthal to meet with our former Conjuration expert Master Falion. It has been many days since I last wrote. A dragon attacked Shor’s Stone shortly after I agreed to help the blacksmith with a spider problem in the mine. I do not think any were lost in the battle, although my nature as Dragonborn was revealed when it died. Nords do not seem to quite comprehend the idea of an Altmeri Dovahkiin. Perhaps it was a mistake when I was given a dragon’s soul.

The spiders in the mine were little problem. The blacksmith was grateful for our help, and then identified the ore sample for the alchemist in Riften, which I delivered. 

I have bought the property for sale in Falkreath. Alteration has been a great asset in building the house itself, and my Housecarl has been helping. I need more supplies, though. 

Brelyna and I parted ways while I worked on the house. I was ecstatic to see her again, even though it was only a few days. I want her in my life forever, even if we remain friends and she does not return my romantic feelings. 

Annoyingly, a dragon attacked the College as I was walking through Winterhold. Of course, with such people as Madame Faralda, it was a nonissue, but it would be wonderful if they would stop that.

Madame Colette was giving a speech when I came back to the hall after giving Master Urag his book. I think it was supposed to be about Restoration magic, but it mostly just sort of appeared that she was complaining about her colleagues disliking her. I am beginning to understand why they feel that way.

I should sleep so we can set out early.


	21. Skyrim: Entry Twenty-One

Unfortunately, but expectedly, Master Falion turned down my offer for him to rejoin the College. I anticipated such a response- it seems he is settled now, and he now actually has a lovely child, a daughter, a little girl that he adopted after her parents died. 

We met him after dark. It appears that he is not welcome amongst the locals, despite being a pleasant if enigmatic man, for when we first entered the town we caught sight of a large crowd of almost every resident petitioning outside the Jarl’s door for him to be removed. 

Such behaviour was rather startling after I conversed with Master Falion. The Jarl is an elderly woman by the name of Idgrod Ravencrone, and Master Falion says her line is steeped with mystery and magic. She has visions of the future, and both of her children do as well. Master Falion also did not speak on the conditions of the surrounding marsh, but he did imply there is something amiss. I suspect it relates to the burnt house at the every edge of the settlement, but I am not one for meddling, and Master Falion has assured me that he will keep Morthal safe. 

I will perhaps return here some time. Master Falion is an odd man, but I trust him, and he seems to respect me from what little I could glean of his mannerisms.

In the meantime, however, I have made another difficult decision. It is time to make for Solstheim. This Miraak person who has garnered a cult is surely a danger to many others besides myself, and if I am to be the Nord hero they expect of me, I need to step up and face my problems. 

I admit, though, I am very nervous. My stomach feels like an empty pit, my heart feels static, and even my very legs feel like they are made of nothing. But...I have emerged victorious against the Thalmor and Eye of Magnus. Whoever this Miraak is, I can face too. I must.


	22. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Two

I...I have met my dear Brelyna’s uncle. He is...an odd type. He is very callous and I think that for once it is not the anxiety at play when I interpret his voice and expressions as vastly condescending. Brelyna and he had a heated argument when we came across him, and I think they do not and have not ever liked each other. She tells me in the privacy of our inn room that he is extremely old, and her uncle several generations previous on her father’s side. His apprentice, she says, is a young man a bit older than us who is her cousin on her mother’s. His name is Talvas, and her uncle is Neloth, a master wizard-lord of the House Telvanni, who even worked with the Nerevarine.

I am in Solstheim, by the way. The boat was in Windhelm, which is a city I admit I am uncomfortable around, and Brelyna as well requested with some urgency that we avoid entering the walls. Our journey from Morthal was relatively smooth, outside of some scuffles with bandits and necromancers, but I must admit that I fear I will grow cold to killing if I continue to be forced into combat by large groups like the bandit fort we passed by unwittingly. I do not want to lose myself in bloodshed. 

Solstheim is exciting, but unwelcoming. The boat who took us was the same who took the cultists, and the captain was very reluctant to repeat the journey to Raven Rock. It was only when I revealed the whole story- that I was searching for Miraak because the people in masks had made an attempt on my life- that he agreed to take me. He said something that rattled me, and rattled Brelyna- he does not remember what passed while he was transporting the cultists. He has lost entire days’ worths’ of memories. And he is not the only one. 

A middle-aged Dunmer accosted us the moment we anchored. Having never seen our faces, he demanded to know our business, and when I told him I wanted to find Miraak, he grew distressed and said he knew the name, and that it was associated with a shrine not far from town, but he knew not who Miraak is. I got the same answers from other residents, many who became upset upon thinking about it. 

At sundown, Brelyna and I made to the shrine, the “Earth Stone” as Second Councillor Adril Arano called it, where we encountered Neloth, and one of the most haunting things I have ever seen. Haggard Dunmer were building the statue greater and greater, chanting mindlessly as they worked. Neloth, after he finished being patronizing, told me he knew Miraak. Miraak was, however, dead. He has been for thousands of years. All Neloth can tell me is that he has a temple inland. 

I think the shrine is being built to enslave the rest of the island, but I do not know why. When I touched it, I heard Neloth try to stop me, and then I woke up calf-deep in the centre well, also building it. I was able to break free of the influence, but I think I shall follow Neloth’s advice and not do that again.

I wish to spend time learning about Dunmer culture and Raven Rock’s history, but I haven’t the time now. Miraak is getting stranger and stranger, and I must get to the bottom of this- not only for my safety, but for the freedom of those bound to his will.

Brelyna refuses to leave. I asked her to; this is no place for her, and I do not wish to see her hurt for my sake. But she maintains she will see this through with me, squeezing my hand and smiling up at me. Oh, by Mara, how I adore her, and what I wouldn’t do to protect that kind face. 

She now insists that I rest. I think she is concerned after the whole thing at the Stone, because she refused to get her own room, and instead will share mine. I will not argue with her on that front. 

If there is any solace in this madness, it is her.


	23. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Three

Miraak! Is there a creature on Nirn more horrid than he? I have met him- I have seen his face, or perhaps it was a mask, as he stood in another realm, and I have learned the true nature of his power and evil.

When Brelyna and I awoke this morning, we were far from Raven Rock- I know not where we were, but it was quite close to the temple, which I shall discuss later. I heard a voice in my head as consciousness returned to me that I now know was Miraak’s. 

Brelyna and I found ourselves building another of the shrines like the Earth Stone, surrounded by strange impish animals she calls Reiklings, and upon awakening from our trance we were assaulted by another of the cult, which we killed, for they are a danger to many even if my stomach turns whenever I see another lying dead.

Then we made for higher ground so that we might see our surroundings, and we found ourselves at the temple Neloth mentioned. Many, many enchanted people were working on it, most Dunmer, but some pale-faced Nords that we learned are called Skaal, a strange isolated society that worships a singular All-Maker and not the Nord gods. One amongst them was not stricken, however, and was trying to wake them. Her name is Frea, and she is the daughter of the shaman. We approached her, and we shared words, and agreed to venture into the temple together.

Frea is a wonderful woman, very brave to have come out here alone. She faced the horrors in the temple, which I do not wish to discuss, with courage and kindness, and led Brelyna and I into its depths while fighting the many Draugr and cultists within.

Miraak, she says, once served the dragons when they ruled Nirn. He was unspeakably cruel, and turned upon his masters, even going as far as to decorate the temple’s sanctum with their bones. 

In the farthest depths we found a simple black book that seemed to flutter in and out of reality. When I touched it, I found myself engulfed by glowing green tendrils and then I was in another world, a horrible slimy world where Miraak stood in spiked robes beside some terrible monsters. When he saw me, he threw me to the ground and paralyzed me, mocking my Dragonborn status compared to his, for in his mind power is all that can and should be sought. He intends to manifest in Tamriel soon, in the rebuilt temple. I shudder to think of what could have been if I had stayed in Skyrim for any longer. 

Then he ordered the creatures he stood with to attack me, and they did so until I fell unconscious, and then I was back in the temple. Frea said that she could see through my body as I held the book, and my poor Brelyna looked so pale and frightened. I related what I saw to her, and she took me to her village. 

Her father and two others sit around a fire, hopefully warm, for the mountains they live in are frigid, casting a barrier around the village to protect those who remain. She introduced me to him, and I told him what I had seen. 

Storn is his name, and he picked up immediately that I, like Miraak, am Dragonborn. With this power, he says, I can either save or destroy his people. 

There is another shrine near the village, where more of the people work, the Wind Stone. Storn has beseeched me to learn a new Word of Power, and use it on the Stone. I cannot refuse. So tomorrow, I set out. I wish to write more, but my hand hurts, and I am tired and cold.


	24. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Four

I have had no time to write of late, and as such much has occurred since my latest entry. I have slept little as well, and when I do sleep I have night terrors of what I have seen. 

I have freed the Skaal working on the Wind Stone. They are all safe, and alive. They were very thankful for my aid. 

Something concerns me, though. When I used the ‘Shout’- if it can be called such with my muteness- and the stone burst open, a wretched monster burst forth and attacked myself, my dear Brelyna and the poor Skaal. And I faced two when I freed the Dunmer in Raven Rock. If this pattern continues…

I also witnessed something that I dream of every night. A madman, ensnared by the knowledge of some kind of book- perhaps the Black Books of the Daedric Lord Hermaeus Mora, which I have learned are the source of Miraak’s power- attempted to fly. Before I could stop him, he had thrown himself into the sky and then fell to his death before my very eyes. The sight sent me into a terrible attack of panic, and I feel a dreadful sense of responsibility for him and all other innocents who have died before me, and I think again of selfless Karita and her sacrifice for me.

I hadn’t realized how far I had travelled from Raven Rock until I made to break the Earth Stone. It was a several days’ walk, what with my physical difficulties and whatnot, and I have learned that most those working on the shrine were homeless beggars and addicts, which somehow makes Miraak’s actions more despicable in my mind. I intend to put an end to him as swiftly as possible, and I will not allow him to manifest within our reality once again. This is why I have had so little time to write. I have been working hard, and when I am not travelling I have been resting. I did get Brelyna a nice set of Chitin armour, in Raven Rock, by the way. It suits her much more than what I had previously given her, even if it is an odd material of...insect...pieces...ugh. But it is not my place to judge the Dunmer or their homeland.

Morrowind is an odd and dangerous place, but how incredible it is. Storn sent my dear Brelyna and I to Master Neloth, much to her dismay and horror, for he has been researching these Black Books. As we made our way to his Tower, which is grown from a large fungus, as is custom of their House, we encountered huge grasshoppers, which Brelyna says are good to eat, and something Brelyna calls “Ash Spawn”, which I can only describe as Draugr but made from the debris of Red Mountain. I also encountered burnt, corrupted Spriggans, and a wonderful and gargantuan insect called a Silt Strider, accompanied by her master, who was more than happy to talk to me about Silt Striders. Most of them were killed in the Red Year, but some, like his Dusty, were cocooned at the time and survived. In the past, Dunmer people used them as transportation.

Not far from Dusty and her master was Tel Mithryn, which is what Master Neloth calls his tower. Brelyna’s cousin Talvas was out front, working on a spell of some kind that the steward seemed to be afraid of. Brelyna quite likes her cousin, it seems, for they fondly embraced and held a brief but warm conversation when they saw one another. Then we entered the tower and spoke with Master Neloth, who recognized me- although that is to be expected, I suppose, with my height and inability to talk. He said I have the “look” of one who has read the Black Books. He frightens me, for he hungers for power like Miraak does, and appears almost jealous of Miraak’s ability to enslave minds, but he holds such untold knowledge and magical ability...I must remain on his good side, and glean what I can from him.

He speaks of Hermaeus Mora, Daedric lord of knowledge, fate and destiny, as if he knows the god personally, which is also concerning. He is fascinated with the knowledge hidden in Hermaeus Mora’s realm, which is called Apocrypha, but has no intentions of visiting it extensively himself. He was more than willing to let me use the Black Book we found in a Dwemer ruin together. 

I do find him interesting. As we explored the Dwemer ruin- Nzchack or some other bizarre name- he told us stories about the Dwemer that lived here. One such tale says that when Nords invaded, the Dwemer sunk the entire city below sea level, and hid there until the Nords gave up. He says he has his doubts on the accuracy, but I do not find it so far-fetched. The ruin was rather frightening, though, because it was powered by and filled with water, and I cannot really swim. 

The Black Book we sought was encased in something even Master Neloth could not break with his magic, but with some trouble we were able to locate the parts we needed to unlock it. It was steam-powered, and we had to search the whole ruin for the cubes that activated the boilers, and I am thankful I had Brelyna and Master Neloth at my side for the Dwemer’s incredible mechanisms still guard the ruins as though their masters still lived and they do not yet react to my Illusion spells. Master Neloth says that during the Dwemer’s existence, this ruin was their biggest and perhaps most efficient archive, and that most of the army they fought with at a battle on Red Mountain was probably from here. So I suppose it is little surprise that this would be the place a Black Book was encased, even if the Dwemer were not fond of gods.

Again, when I opened the Black Book those horrid tendrils grabbed me, and I found myself in Apocrypha again. I do not know quite how to describe it. It is a very green place, where old books lay discarded and creatures that I now assume are former visitors turned daedra read ancient tomes. A liquid substance I cannot discern the nature of sits stagnantly beneath wire platforms, and sometimes black oozing tendrils reach out and snap like whips at passerby. The plane was more dangerous than I could have imagined, and indeed, I am out of health potions, but I have a strong desire to return, for I collected many texts from the daedra I fought and when I spoke to Hermaeus Mora, he claimed that all knowledge is stored in Apocrypha. 

My visit was not without its concerns, however. Daedra are foul and cunning beings, trusted by few, with only the Dunmer’s Reclamations and Orsimer’s Malacath being remotely tolerated in worship. I was greeted by Hermaeus Mora immediately, who manifests as a viscous semi-solid being with many changing eyes and a garbled voice, who welcomed me to his realm as a seeker of knowledge, but also intends to force me into servitude for him, and I fear the results of that greatly. He has given me a second Word of Power, and strengthened my Thu’um, but he has his demands, as all Daedra do.

What upsets me the most is his price for the knowledge I need to defeat Miraak. He wishes for me to bring Storn to him. I feel in my gut that this will result in Storn’s death, and I cannot bear to have that on my hands, for there is much blood that I cannot clean already, and Storn has been so very passionate and kind, telling me about his people and fighting so hard for them. Brelyna tells me if he dies it will be for the safety of the Skaal and of Solstheim, and that he will meet his death bravely and willingly, but the guilt is still so strong.

I need to rest now, anyways. I am at Tel Mithryn, for Master Neloth is not so lacking in humanity as to refuse his niece, although we have not been provided with bedrolls or anything of the sort. I will break the Sun Stone near this tower shortly to further delay Miraak, but I also need to rebuild my potions stock, and recover from the injuries I received in Apocrypha. And it would be cruel to put myself in danger so soon, for sweet Brelyna has been shaking over what could have happened to me in Apocrypha, and I do not wish to cause her worry so shortly.


	25. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Five

I am in Raven Rock now, mostly scrounging about for food and ingredients. I have great reservation about facing Miraak at any point in time in the near future, for when I set out to destroy the Sun Stone, as I had feared, three Daedra burst out of it, and the ensuing battle lasted till sundown and left all but myself, Brelyna and a servant of Neloth’s dead.

I am simply still too weak to even dream of facing Miraak and winning at the moment, and I still have little in the way of potions to support me. Nor have I yet spoken to Storn- my terror that I am leading him to his death is far too potent. 

As for now, I intend to steadily increase my skills in Conjuration and Alteration, so that when I finally fight Miraak, my flesh will be hard and my Atronachs true. Perhaps I shall speak to Talvas about that Ash Guardian he created. 

Talvas appears to be a great deal less cautious than his cousin. As I left Tel Mithryn to cleanse the Sun Stone, he ran up to us covered in ash, and frantically begged us for help. The spell he had been practicing had gone horribly wrong, and the Ash Guardian was running amok, as he put it. Brelyna and I were able to put it down, though, and Master Neloth does not know of the incident. In return, Talvas granted me a spell of his, Ash Shell, which briefly paralyzes targets by wrapping them in ash. It is quite useful. 

Master Neloth says he has an idea for the location of another of the Black Books. Perhaps I shall return to his tower and help him find it. The knowledge in Apocrypha could make me able to stand against Miraak. 

Raven Rock is quiet enough, now that the Earth Stone has been stopped. No-one really speaks of it. I have met the Captain of the Redoran Guard, Moryn Veloth, I think he said. I have agreed to help him and help Raven Rock when I am finished with Miraak.   
House Redoran...it’s another of the Great Houses of Morrowind, like Telvanni, and I wonder what they are known for. Their guard are wonderful warriors, so perhaps they are the house of physical strength. I have aided in several attacks by Ash Spawn, and the guards have scarce needed my Rally spell, or my Atronachs. 

Brelyna is at the Temple as I write this. She is not extremely religious, but she does worship the Dunmer’s Three. Perhaps I shall inquire further about their pantheon, so that I may respect her beliefs. One of the priests does not care for me, though, because I am Altmer and not of the Reclamation faith, so I have stayed outside to appease him.

I shall return to Tel Mithryn as soon as she is finished praying, I think...


	26. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Six

Hermaeus Mora now owns me. He has made that more than clear. My soul is his, and should I rebel against him like Miraak did, I will die in the same horrid manner, impaled and writhing as thousands of eyes stare mockingly.

Miraak...the first Dragonborn...a man of such unspeakable cruelty and power. I very rarely rejoice in death, but in his I will revel. 

I am thankful for the Seeker that accompanies me- I realize now that it is vastly inappropriate to call it “mine”, for it was a mer or man or beastfolk at one time, and I was arrogant to presume it has lost its sentience- as daedra cannot die, only become incapacitated, and this being was at my side consistently, fighting others of its kind and large fishlike beasts like the ones that burst from the Stones. I hope that being with me is a welcome change from serving Hermaeus Mora. I wish to communicate with it- discover its name in life, if it remembers.

It remains invisible as we travel, for it is a daedra, after all, and will be rather unwelcome, especially if we make further trips to the Skaal village. Not that I have intentions of returning for now- I can scarce show my face after giving up Storn to Hermaeus Mora.

Both he and Frea assured me this was his choice. Frea said she did not blame me, yet I felt I heard some coldness in her voice. And I am sure, as of little concern as this is compared to the greater loss, that Hermaeus Mora speaking as though I had planned this in cohorts with him has not helped my reputation amongst the wild Nords. 

Storn meditated on the decision for several days as I cleansed the last of the Stones. For centuries, Hermaeus Mora, known to the Skaal people as Herma-Mora, has hungered for the secrets of Skaal shamans- how they commune with Nirn, how they live harmoniously with nature. They call him the Demon of Knowledge because of how he covets their mastery even as useless as it is to him, and their legends tell of many, many times he has tried to trick their shamans into giving in. 

But Storn assured Frea and I that his end decision was no mistake. The Skaal legends also tell of the day Hermaeus Mora wins, and he was willing to give way so that I could put an end to Miraak forever.

He took the Black Book from my hands, and opened it, and at once- gods above, I tremble to recall- at once, Hermaeus Mora’s many squelching tendrils penetrated his eyes, his body and his head, and Frea’s scream still resonates in my ears.

I wept. I have no qualm admitting that I wept openly, and that I signed my fury. In retrospect, saying such things to a Daedric Lord was perhaps a reckless decision, but one that I made anyway. I still think Storn’s death was an unnecessary cruelty- Daedra are never to be trusted, and I often question the Dunmer’s religious attachment to Mephala and Boethiah.

Still, I had no time to mourn. I embraced Brelyna for several long moments, in case I perished fighting, and she too wept, and then we broke apart and I made for Apocrypha. 

I faced Miraak within the same Book I had found in his temple, of course. I did have to fight my way to him, although the realm itself was little different from any other of the Books. 

The battle itself was...exhausting, to say the least. I was taken to him by a dragon that I tamed with the Bend Will shout I learned from Hermaeus Mora, a dragon that he later killed to revitalize himself. He did this three times over, with dragons that had previously worked for him, and yet he had the gall to complain about Mora turning on him- like begets like, I suppose.   
We fought for many long, long hours. He was convinced it was my fate to die at his hands, which was an odd thing to say since he also seemed of the impression that fate is malleable.

I am not a strong woman myself, but over my explorations into Apocrypha I have collected many scrolls containing destructive spells, and I used every one to bring Miraak to his knees with the aid of the Seeker.

I did not kill him. Hermaeus Mora did that, and granted me Miraak’s soul, as well as the robes, mask, staff and sword the man had carried. Miraak cursed me in his final breaths, and then his flesh was stripped from his body and he lay skeletal as the dragons he had betrayed. 

I can barely believe it is over. When I returned to Solstheim, Brelyna flung herself into my arms and shook with joy that I had safely returned, and by the gods do I love her so deeply. Frea was awaiting me as well, red-eyed from the loss of her father, and thanked me for what I had done, even if it was not I who finally slew Miraak. She has begged me to not give more ground to Hermaeus Mora. I do not intend to, although I will make use of what Black Books I can find. 

Owned by a Daedra. It is not a welcome experience. But Altmer are long-lived. I have much time before I die and become a part of Apocrypha. Perhaps in the centuries to come, I shall forget about my plight, or somehow be freed from it. I have intentions to busy myself with aiding Master Neloth and Raven Rock for the time being, to do some more mundane tasks and feel more mortal again. 

I did find Master Neloth a steward. Drovas is his name. I do not know why he was so eager, but at least Master Neloth will be pleased. I should now find that Ash Spawn sample he wanted, and return to him regarding that study. Perhaps I will gain some insight into his magic...not for power, of course. I grow weary of power. I simply want to know for the sake of knowing...as dangerous as that has proven.   
Brelyna seems unwilling to leave my side for the time being. I suppose she, too, is rattled by all that has occurred. I do not complain. 

We should set out for Tel Mithryn now, I think.


	27. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Seven

It feels good to have more mundane tasks at hand. I am in the midst of several for Master Neloth, which will take me back to Skyrim shortly, and I have done several more for Captain Modyn. 

The Ash Spawn attacks he had asked me to look into sourced from a nearby fort that fell during the Red Year. Astoundingly, the general in charge had remained intact, and was resurrected by someone named Ildari, whose journal I found within the garrison. I presume this person to be a Dunmer, and I wonder- for the notes commented on using “Heart Stones” which Master Neloth is very invested in- if they are somehow connected to him. They mentioned that this experiment was intended for “vengeance” of some kind, but that while the general had come to life, he had come to life paranoid and aggressive- all too well seen in his attacks on Raven Rock’s walls and the things he said as Brelyna and I battled him. This Ildari person was nowhere to be found, perhaps dead, or fleeing from their creation. 

No matter. The brave general is properly laid to rest now, and Ash Spawn attacks will surely lessen or even stop. Captain Veleth was very pleased, and apparently, had even told the Councillor of my intentions to help, and the Councillor had him pay us handsomely for our efforts. Unneeded, but I was not going to turn it down.

He also employed my skill with Illusion magic to track down an addictive substance his men had become accustomed to, which was simple with a Clairvoyance spell. I suppose none in Raven Rock are mages. The locals have warmed up to us now somewhat, which is also nice. 

For now, I am about to make my way back to Skyrim, where I will be journeying to the Reach to face a Forsworn Briarheart for Master Neloth. He has cast a spell on me to record my memories- and as he will surely see this I suppose I ought to greet him, hello- and wishes that I fight one so that he may compare their undeadness to the experiments he is performing with Heart Stones. 

He was very interested in my health after I returned from facing Miraak, perhaps invasively so. He asked me to hold still so that he could examine me, although he says I appear to be in good health (which is a relief). He did forget who Miraak was briefly, though, and simply said that he assumed I had handled the situation. I suppose I ought to be flattered.

Drovas is working out well enough as steward, according to Master Neloth, although he does say the man doesn’t brew his tea well, but I’ve now inherited Drovas’ debt to a loanshark named Mogrul. Mogrul is...perhaps unaware that Brelyna is Telvanni, or that both she and I are connected to Master Neloth- who, presuming he is still reading this, I would like to ask for some protection against Mogrul, since I was sort of the reason he has a new steward at all. Still, I might go against my moral code and murder the man, even as my stomach turns to think of such a crime...watching him around has brought to my attention that he is not only after Drovas (or rather myself, now) but many other Raven Rock residents, and I think my fleeting guilt is, perhaps, less important than their safety. 

I also need to retrieve a taproot. Master Neloth’s tower is ill, and his apothecary is too old to retrieve and prepare the roots herself. I expect to pick one up on my way to the Reach. 

We should be on our way now. The Northern Maiden is ready to sail.


	28. Skyrim/Morrowind: Entry Twenty-Eight

I think something is wrong with Master Neloth. I think he might be crazy. 

I was right about Ildari, though- she is connected to him. She was his former apprentice. He thought he had killed her in an experiment, but somehow, she survived, and now she is trying to ruin him.

I suppose I ought to write down everything else before I explain my current situation- I abstained from journaling after my last entry, for as much as I care for and respect Master Neloth, I prefer that my innermost thoughts remain private, and I wanted to reduce the amount of information he got from my memories. Of course, he has since removed his spell, so I can now record my last few weeks (months? I have little concept of time) safely.

It was wonderful to return to Skyrim, even if I am less welcome there as a mage than in Solstheim, where the Dunmer expect mages to wander. I spent some time in Falkreath- I need to finish building my house, so my dear Brelyna and I have somewhere to stay when not travelling. I have not asked her to live with me officially yet, but she has stuck close since the incidents in Solstheim, and seems to have more or less invited herself to maintain permanent residence with me, as she said that “we” should hire a steward of our own to help with the building process. I haven’t an idea who we should hire, though. Perhaps Lydia, the housecarl under my employ in Whiterun- gods, I have not thought of her in ages. I should pay her a visit- I have scarcely been in that area…

We made for the College of Winterhold after collecting some taproots from Spriggans in Falkreath. I always feel bad killing them, but they have gotten so dangerously aggressive as of late. 

Gods, I was so happy to see Madame Faralda again. It felt like it had been years. She is one of the few I allow to make physical contact with me, and I hugged her like we had not seen one another in decades. We talked for hours. My hands felt boneless afterwards we talked so long, and it was incredible. She has even learned sign language in my absence so that she no longer needs Brelyna to translate. I told her everything I had seen and done, and even about Master Neloth- she has heard of him, and like many others thinks of him as a madman.

She is quite worried about my newfound connection with Hermaeus Mora. I am too. But she does trust me to handle the Black Books carefully, and agrees that if I am to be indentured to him, I might as well gain of it what I can. She entreats me to be careful, though. I promised her I would- I have no intentions of dying young, although I do not fear death.

I was struck with guilt over how little I have attended to duties as Arch-Mage, but Madame Faralda assures me that naught has been of importance. We have suffered several dragon attacks, but those have had no serious injuries or deaths resulting, and nothing of major concern that would require my attention has cropped up. I did check in with the other professors, if briefly. Master Drevis is still going on about how badly he wanted to research the Eye of Magnus. I think it is a good thing the monks took it...Master Drevis is a bit...ah, airheaded, and I would loathe to see him injured or killed by his curiosity. 

Gods, the fiasco with Ancano and the Eye seems like a lifetime ago. I feel like I have grown and learned much since. It is a good feeling. I enjoy the feeling of learning and growing, and while I have been working for Master Neloth I have spent a great deal of time studying with Talvas. Brelyna likes him more than she likes her uncle, and he is a quite a bit more friendly- I do like being with him. He is nowhere near as knowledgeable as Master Neloth, but he is still widely educated in the skill of Conjuration, and he has taught me how to properly summon Ash Guardians, Ash Spawn and even Storm Atronachs and Dremora Lords, which I find incredibly useful. He says he wants to get to know me, because he thinks I will be related to him soon...I have yet to quite figure out what he meant by that. And of course nothing compares to my quarters in the College, where there is all but no sound, and none bother entering while I read or work. I have hopes of enchanting my garden to sing, like the ones in Summerset do. But I have not yet reached that level of knowledge yet.  
And of course I examined that Briarheart warrior, like Master Neloth asked. He was fearsome, and I had to be careful that my Atronachs did not destroy the body so I could study it. He was actually in the midst of creating another of his kind, it seems. I...actually feel ill remembering it. I have never seen one, so I was unprepared...Master Neloth said that they replace their hearts with large briar seeds, but I did not know he meant there was a gaping, pulsing, oozing hole in their chest where an enchanted seed floated where their heart should have been, held together by strings of- eugh. 

Well, he was pleased with my efforts, so I suppose it was all worth it. Brelyna still thinks I’m mad for appreciating him, but I refuse to believe he is as morally bankrupt as she says. I mean- there is something wrong with him, I see that now. But I do recall him grabbing me by the arm and dragging me out of the way of a Steam Centurion, so he has to have some humanity left. And he always rewards us properly for our work, and thanks us dully. So I think there is just a bit of goodness in him.

That said, the story he told me of Ildari was horrific. She almost died in an experiment, and he says that if she is still alive- and she is- that she must be hovering between life and death. She is clearly more than capable- having been behind that botched necromancy attempt that wound up with the Ash Spawn attacks, and Master Neloth thinks she is also the reason Varona was killed, and the withering of Tel Mithryn. He thought she had died, and had...buried her, which was odd, because Dunmer usually burn their dead. I assume that the other coffins out back were previous apprentices as well. 

I was planning to ask him about her anyway, after Raven Rock, but I guess I don’t have to now. He wants me to kill her. 

I feel bad for her. I think Master Neloth deserves the inconveniences of Ash Spawn attacks and withered walls, but she did kill Varona, who was completely innocent, and Master Neloth says she volunteered herself for the surgery that did this to her anyway, so I suppose it is somewhat her own fault.

And I do want to keep on Master Neloth’s good side, both for the knowledge he hoards and for my own safety.

Brelyna is also conflicted on the subject, but she is a wonderful woman, and I think she will come with me to fight Ildari. After Raven Rock and poor Varona, she should be stopped, no matter the reason behind her actions. Master Neloth wants an amusing story of her death...sometimes he does frighten me.


	29. REMAKE??

i'm considering going through and seriously editing this whole work or rewriting it. would any of you be willing to read a new version?


End file.
